Coloured History
by bii-kun
Summary: Life, romance, music, and colour... Maes Hughes reminisces about what it meant to be young. Please R&R! [HughesxRoy]


Coloured History

Part One: Faded

Pairing(s):HughesxRoy-Warning for a suggestive shounen-ai scene.

Wow, my first fic published online! Please R&R as you see fit.

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Major Maes Hughes drummed his fingers slowly on the table, listening to the drone of boilers and the incessant ticking of the ancient clock in the corner of Col. Mustang's office. Roy was late. The old timer must be getting slow in his old age, too busy with the heady gravitas of meetings and ceremonies.

Maes craned his neck over his shoulder, looking for something to alleviate his crushing boredom. His sight fell on a small cabinet to his left.

Perhaps a little musical colour would make the time go faster.

He peered into the grimy cavity beside the table, and fished out a particularly worn dust jacket that was rammed further back than all the others. It was a blank, washed out brown, except for a large blot of ink in one corner. The man uttered a small breath of laughter, as he traced the outline of the dark smear. Memories, memories.

Hughes looked around, but the corridor outside of the office was empty save for someone disappearing out of the door at the end. The higher-ups didn't abide music, as it was deemed too frivolous for the working hours. As a distant 'click' of a lock sounded, he drew the sleek black record out of its sleeve, and after sweeping away a few cobwebs, place it carefully on the turntable.

The needle swung round and jittered gently onto the little grooves of the record's surface, emitting a warm crackle. Hughes pulled up a chair next to the desk, propping his arm up to rest a hand on his chin. The words emanated distantly through the clamorous sputtering, but Maes' imagination began to fill in the gaps of distortion and created, word for word, the song he had heard all those years ago…

_I spent a lot of my time looking at blue,_

_The colour of my room and my mood…_

Back then, as Hughes remembered fondly, he was still very young, his face smooth, his chin had yet to grow a copious amount of stubble, and his eyesight had been ten times better.

_Blue on the walls, Blue out of my mouth…_

The song on the gramophone, now distant and faded, had then been clear as a bell over the radios in all the café's and restaurants late at night. It was always played late at night, though Hughes couldn't remember why…

---

"Did you hear that new song at Marianne's yesterday night?"

"'I'm not sure I like it. It's really…different."

"Isn't it? And the words…"

The group of girls broke into a fit of giggles, pressing their heads close together and whispering. Hughes leaned back in his seat, wriggling with the hard discomfort of the wooden bench. It was suppertime, and the doors to the examination hall had been opened to allow people to spend time in the warm. Outside, the snow fell steadily, covering every surface with a bitterly cold skin. Maes tucked his frozen hands under the lapels of his coat to thaw. The group of girls behind him broke into another peal of laughter. Ignoring this, Maes closed his eyes, feeling the hot air and aged smell of the hall settle comfortingly around him.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Hughes cracked an eye open. Roy Mustang was sidling into his row, dusting snowflakes off his shoulders. "I've finally managed to finish my paperwork, so I though I'd come in here." He sat down, and began to take of his gloves to blow on his hands. Hughes took his feet off the bench in front, and smoothed out his hair. "Shouldn't you have something to eat? You haven't stepped out of your office since this morning."

Roy shook his head. "No, no, I'm not hungry. I thought I'd spend some time in good company instead."

Maes chuckled. "Isn't that the sweetest."

"Of course. Only for you, Hughes."

The pair sat in contemplative silence, listening to the din of people chattering amongst themselves. Roy watched with amusement as an old man in a faded blue coat shakily drew a circle on the nearby wall in chalk, striking neatly angled lines and symbols at intervals. Taking a bunch of small plant cuttings from his pocket, he proceeded to press this beneath his hands on the wall. The stone beneath his hands shivered and seethed with a cold blue light, spreading from his fingers and up into the high vaults of the ceiling. After a few moments, the light cleared with a puff of acrid smoke, and in its place long wreaths of holly trembled and steamed.

A few people cheered and applauded, to which the old man took a short bow and then shuffled off with his mop and bucket.

Hughes gave a sigh, stretching his long arms behind his head. "Nearly Christmas, huh. Looking forward to it?"

"Mm. Christmas dances, drinking, and then into bed. The same every year."

The major clapped his companion on the shoulder. "Aaaah. Same as always. But the dancing's good fun, right?"

Roy turned to him, giving a withering smile. "Dancing, fun? I can't dance, Hughes."

Hughes readjusted his glasses with a flourish. "The great Colonel Roy Mustang? The fearless Flame Alchemist says he can't dance? I don't believe it!" Roy nudged him hard in the ribs, and gave a wary glance around. _"Sssh! Not so loud!" _

Maes gave a snort of laughter at his friend's uncharacteristically anxious expression. The major took pride in the fact that he was quite possibly the only man on Earth to make the colonel flustered without suffering the consequences.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to learn, right?" There was a silence. Hughes continued. "I'm sure any of the ladies in this room would be willing to give you a hand…" Looking round, he came face to face with the group of girls, who until that point had been gazing at them, unnoticed. Each girl immediately turned to hide their blushes and started to giggle uncontrollably again.

Hughes blinked, and noticed that Roy had also gone bright red. Inhaling dramatically, he leaned down to colonel's eyelevel. "How about _I_ teach you?"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

---

The clocks in the hallway _ticktickticked _in harmony, each showing that it was now thirteen minutes past nine. Hughes bundled up his coat around himself. The fires and lamps had all been extinguished in the corridors, leaving the major's breath to unfurl in front of him in the dark.

He reached a door featuring 'Col. Roy Mustang' inscribed on a brass plate. Pushing it, it creaked open, unlocked. Inside, the room was dim but for a small fire shimmering in the hearth.

Roy was sat at his desk, still fully dressed, turning his pocket watch over and over in his hands. Hughes closed the door and saluted. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

The colonel stood abruptly, and walked stiffly around his writing table. He leaned down, and opened a small cabinet underneath a pile of papers.

A jumble of different sounds hissed dimly for a moment, and then was replaced by the familiar lilting cadence of music.

With this, Roy strode resolutely into the center of the room, and held out his arm in front of him.

"Teach me how to dance."

Hughes stood bewildered. Roy glared at him, unmoving.

Slowly, Maes walked up to him. Roy was still looking sullenly at the space where the major had just been standing. Hughes shook his head, and coughed briskly. "Well, then, alright. How should we start?"

Another silence.

Unperturbed, Hughes continued. "I suppose you should be leading, so you'll be putting your hand there…" he lightly placed the colonel's hand in his own- "and your other hand…uh, here…" he guided Roy's hand to his waist-"and I'll be putting my hand here." He plucked a corner of his coat up between finger and thumb, like a dress.

There was an awkward silence.

Roy blushed deeply.

"No time like the present, colonel."

Roy jumped with embarrassment, and straightened up. "Right, then. Go."

The clocks said that it was ten minutes to midnight. Roy was now managing to stay in time and not get dragged along, and was even starting to enjoy himself. Hughes had begun buoyantly chatting away to him, as they swung smoothly around the room, deftly avoiding the furniture.

A bottle of stamina-building brandy had been opened on Hughes' request, and both of them were now feeling slightly euphoric from spinning. They had even decided to take turns in leading, as Maes had said he would like to dust off his own dancing skills. This was, to him though, turning into a bit of a pretense. He had begun, on his own accord, to swing Roy around more violently than he had perhaps meant to, so that his companion would struggle for breath and cling to his forearms to keep his balance. He somehow found a guilty pleasure in stealing looks at Roy's flushed and eager face, framed by willowy strands of jet-black hair, cobalt eyes turning slightly hazy with drink.

The music began to dim into a wavering chord, and the two men halted the dance. In the corridor, the clock began to chime twelve. Maes perked up. _At a dance like this, what always happens at midnight?_ It was a crazy thought, but Hughes' slightly intoxicated mind refused to discard the idea.

"Roy…uh, I mean, uh, Colonel, sir…" he began in a wavering voice. Roy swayed slightly, smiling faintly. "That is, Colonel Mustang, sir, I think that it would be best if we should go to bed… ah, that is… I should go… to…"

There was suddenly a sober pause. The clock outside had begun to toll four chimes to twelve.

The gramophone was still playing.

_Blue on the walls, Blue out of my mouth,_

_The sort of blue between clouds when the sun comes out,_

_The sort of blue in those eyes you get hung up about._

Their hands were still clasped, and Roy noticed with a dim urgency how they were becoming numb for how close they were now pressed together. The air of the room seemed to be growing stifling, and Roy gave a dry swallow, feeling how Hughes' breath gave his cheeks a damp chill, prickling on the skin. He dared himself to look at his companion, to tell him that they should be going, but instead he found himself staring straight into those bright, jade-like eyes, that were boring into him with that strangely ambiguous expression that he had always questioned. He found himself looking at his chest again.

"Sir." The colonel twitched, but didn't respond. "Colonel. Mustang." An arm tightened around his waist, closing the gap between their two bodies.

"…Roy."

"…Hughes." Roy was taken aback by how much his voice shook.

This had do be some sort of dream.

The back of a hand curved beneath his jaw, tilting his face upwards.

"Maes."

His upper lip grazed the light stubble of Hughes' chin. His skin smelt of spices. It was damp, too. The major craned his neck so that the colonel's lips trailed upwards over the soft bow beneath his mouth, and up to rest, gently, on his own.

They hovered there for a second, both men fascinated by the hesitative feeling of the moment.

_My terrible fear of dying, no longer_

_Plays with me._

_For now I know that I'm needed_

_For the symphony._

Roy could barely breathe. He couldn't possibly be awake.

Hughes decided to make the first move.

The colonel's mouth felt as though it was scalding hot, alive and moving and with a sensation that was all his, and so like him. Roy clutched the sticky strands of hair at the base of Hughes' neck, reveling in the all too real feeling of it.

The misgivings that he had had just a few hours ago were now truly dead-and-buried, as his back thumped painfully onto the cold surface of his desk. A bottle of ink clinked on his elbow, and the contents began to spread slowly over the wood. It was that disgusting pink colour that the Fuhrer insisted on using in his letters. Hughes sunk down across his body, shrugging off his coat and taking off his glasses. His hands had somehow found a way under Roy's own coat and shirt, and the feeling of them made Roy grasp the desk, his fingers slipping in the puddle of ink. Hughes grasped his wrist and brought his hand to his own face, smearing the crimson pigment down his cheek, across his neck…

Outside, the guards patrolled on, choosing to ignore that audacious gramophone music eking from the colonel's window.

---

Wooooooaaahh, dyuuuuude… I hope that didn't suck too badly… I'm off to flog myself with birch 

Stay tuned for part 2 (hopefully.) Ja ne!


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